In this state of exhaustion, the answer is not much. I fish out some parchment, and an infinite-ink self-writing quill for at least one task though. I instruct the quill to begin taking down notes of the alchemical composition of the few potions I’d been able to figure out through my myconid form’s hivemind from disassembling them within the orb-time. I wonder if there’s any advantages I can build for us from using alchemical knowledge gained in the myconid form.
Thinking about alchemy and chemical breakdowns, I find myself thinking of acid and acid specialists. That leads to me thinking about Jazharn. She’s the one true human in our family. At least, that I know of, or recall offhand. I mean, she’s technically not exactly in our family yet, but she’s dating one of the cat tribe, a tribe that we subsumed into the Shellcracker clan. I know it was going extremely well, because they were working at inventing an entire language together to bridge the communication barrier between humans and critterkin. Well, that and because they spent plenty of time together and Dreams of Days had never looked happier.
Wait, our cat tribe family members. The one dating Jazharn, Dreams was her name, right? Hell it feels like so long since we’ve seen them, I can barely remember their faces or names. I begin to weep at the idea of losing memories that are so precious to me as my family on Can’Z’aas. Induul grimaces at my show of vulnerability, since he needs me to appear fearsome and frightening for him, to keep his mind off of his cravings. Sighing heavily, I stuff my emotions down deeply into a box to unpack later when I’m not “on the clock,” as it were.
Wait, losing precious memories, gaining memories that push out older ones, something was doing that one time. Crap, that’s probably one of those lines of thought that I can’t chase without Lu. Friggin’ hell. Stupid mysterious memory crap. I find myself growling in frustration, which thankfully zeroes out Induul’s mood, returning his grimace to neutral as he remembers how volatile I am. It reminds him that my emotional displays are as likely to turn into wrath as anything else. I really want to physically vent my frustrations on something, hurt something right now. The idea that I might be losing the memories that I hold dear from my life, my real life, my first life, on Can’Z’aas, it breaks my heart, and tears painfully into me.
Grr, I need to not think that way either though. I’ve forged real memories here on Rayileklia. These people are just as real, just as full of hope and fear and love and anguish. I, I just don’t want to lose anything. I guess I’m selfish that way. I don’t want to give up any of what I have, and anything else that I stumble into, or gain, I want to keep. Doesn’t everyone though? At least, in terms of connections, friendships, loves, the safety of their family, and the like? I don’t even know any more. Heaving another sigh I slam my fist into the ultra-dense stone wall and grunt in pain as I bruise my knuckles.
I punch the wall again, and again, and again, as my anger rises at the thought of losing my dearest memories, at Rayileklia taking them from me somehow, at not understanding how or why my memories are broken and buggy and dangerous. Somehow, somehow I think it has to do with the Celestial Emperor. My anger spirals as I think about the things he’s done that I know about, or that I’ve conjectured about.
It feels wrong, but I have people in the world that I definitely want to kill. Killing should be wrong, is wrong, but Terrorzin? The Celestial Emperor? They have to go. They don’t get more chances. They’ve had time and made choices that subjugated and caused suffering. They’ve stolen souls, literally. That isn’t some sort of slap on the wrist and talk down to them kind of offense. That’s a keep them from ever being able to harm another soul ever again kind of offense.
I know, I know. Who am I to play judge, jury, and executioner? Who the hell else is going to do it? What court would reign over such a trial that would even be safe from the tyranny and power of such heinous evils? I want to be a moral, just, kind, and good person. I truly do. My hands and soul are sullied though. I don’t know if they’ll ever be clean. I think back to the fear I saw in those eyes, the last psion standing that had been attempting to subvert Fenric’s will. That salmon-colored Draconiac was almost assuredly begging for mercy nonverbally, and I slew her. I struck her down. Or maybe I threw her to Salamanderian. It doesn’t really matter which hand carried the knife as it were. Either way her life ended at my behest.
I vomit against the wall that I’d been striking, feeling sick at the taking of a life that I may have been able to offer mercy to in other circumstances. Induul flinches, and his muscles clench in a semi-fearful reaction. I see his stomach lurch in response to my sickness, so he turns away and takes several strides towards the vault door where he doesn’t have to witness my continued retching. I took lives, I slew people. I took lives, and will have to keep taking lives. It’s all I can think about now. The only punishments I get are the ones I deliver against my own mind, or my body here literally being sick with disgust at my actions.
I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be judge, jury, and executioner. I don’t want there to be war, and strife. Still, I suppose it’s necessary, because I definitely don’t want to see children, or clutched eggs, stolen from people. I definitely don’t want to see the light of the whole world snuffed out after being razed to ash and cinders. As sick as it makes me to be backed into a corner where taking lives seems like the only option, it really is something that I have to do. My stomach heaves and I dry-retch one last time. I know it’s a bit overkill, but I snag my elemental bandolier and toss a fire-enhanced knife at the pool of sick in the corner. The heat of the explosion washes clean the stone, leaving nothing but a dark char where the vomit once was.
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Induul jumps in surprise at the sudden rush of heat and the fwooshing sound of the flame. Trying to get my mind back to focusing on helping him, I joke, “Had to clean up after myself, figured a fireball was the quickest way to do it.”
Blinking several times, Induul shakes his head incredulously, muttering, “Sure, a Red, I get maybe being lazy and cooking away some mess, but you’ve got limits on your powers, right?”
Shrugging, I respond, “Sure, but I don’t leave for the Vorzog keep or whatever it’s called until about twenty four to thirty hours from now, the knife’s power will have returned by then.”
Rolling his eyes, Indy scoffs, “Right, right, so why not toss fireballs around just because you can?”
Despite not actually feeling that way, I chuckle and nod in agreement, “Exactly.”
I’m putting on a facade for him, and he knows it, but somehow it comforts him nonetheless. Regardless? Nonetheless, regardless, whatever. Sifting through my private hoard, I look around for perhaps another box of the runic clip trinkets that attach into the bangles. I don’t want Induul touching anything in his current state, or I’d ask him to help out by being a second pair of eyes.
My own eyes are itchy from having cried and then dried in the heat of the flames. I really need to distract myself from the anger that’s building back up again. Our situation, this world, the horrible things that happen, and the horrible people behind them, and possibly losing my memories, and being a murderer, and, and just so much more. I’m getting intrusive thoughts like thinking the only way to quiet my brain about obsessing on these topics would be to stab it with something. That would be pretty bad Reggie. Yeah, I know. Urgh, split psyche stuff, talking to myself in my head.
More like just talking things out. Cut yourself a little slack and give yourself a break mentally. Intrusive thoughts are intrusive, they’re not what you want to do, or are going to do. Talking through things in your head, even if you address yourself, is a perfectly valid way to handle coming to conclusions. Is it though? Yes. How would you, or I, know that though? Well, think of some psych one oh one stuff, or some psych two oh one stuff. If you wanted to be a therapist for someone, based on what you know from those courses, how would you handle talking someone through this scenario? Hm, true.
Wait. How the everloving eff would I know the course material for psych one oh one or psych two oh one? That’s Fakeworld contemporary college curriculum. Gods what the hell is even going on with these buggy-ass memories of mine? I slam my head into the wall a bit too hard, trying to dislodge the thoughts, and mostly succeed, though I nearly black out for my effort. Ow. Despite having slammed the top of my forehead into the wall, it’s the sides of my cranium above and near my temples that throbs in pain.
Induul seems at a loss for words, which is probably for the best, as he sees me massaging the sides of my skull. I shake my head at him, having no rational explanation for my actions. Trying to explain the rabbit-hole that is my brain would take—. Well, then again, I do need to keep him occupied, and distracted. Talking things out might help me figure some things out about myself, even if I’m just using Indy as a sounding board.
I start covering some of my mental state to Induul, and apparently something about either my words, my delivery, my voice, or something else that I couldn’t even guess, keeps him mostly captivated. That’s a stroke of luck on my part, since I’m only staying awake to try to help him get past his initial cravings. He isn’t exactly sympathizing or empathizing with me, but he’s drawn into the tale of the inanity that is learning about the inner workings of my brain.
Explaining the hows and the whys of my best guesses as to my neurological states are, well, just guesses on my part. I’m not trying to diagnose myself in any fashion, though it’s pretty obvious to anyone that I suffer from my traumas. The rest of it though? The depressive spells? The intrusive thoughts? The thinking in circles? The fixations and inability to control my focus? I can only begin to take stabs in the dark at those. There’s no telling how much of my neurological state is due to my Changeling Fae nature, the mana corruption sickness, just being a spellcaster and using magic, or from forcing my way through magic, occasionally literally breaking parts of my brain.
Induul happens to find it amusing when he learns that I’ve literally destroyed portions of my brain, paying the price for my hubris at times. I’m certainly far less amused at having lost what could have played vital roles in pivotal moments of this war. I can’t say I exactly regret doing it. I wouldn’t have survived trying to buy Autumn Brook nearly as much time without sacrificing that part of my brain to call upon the backup that I did. Mana constructs simply weren’t meant to be utilized at those levels in that abundance though, simultaneously, for that length of time. Any one of those rules being broken could have destroyed me, but I broke all of them, and somehow managed to luck out into only losing my ability to ever break those rules again.
Sighing, I shake my head at myself, lamenting that even my good luck carries weight and responsibility and loss. Lives rested on those choices that I made, and more lives rest on the me that exists after the consequences of them. Everything I do has consequences reaching far farther than I could ever have imagined. Well, that’s sort of a lie, I can imagine quite far. Ridiculously so. I simply mean that I hadn’t contemplated just what sorts of consequences I might be dealing with down the road, when I’d been making certain choices.
I’m getting nothing done other than burning time with Induul. I so badly just want to close my eyes and cuddle Teuila, or float myself up to Kinzul’s den to spend the night with the rest of my loved ones, my family, hell, my wife. Crap on a cracker that will never not be weird. I still think of myself as an aro ace. I mean, me doing things outside the normal bounds of the spectrum doesn’t invalidate my identity, but it’s still weird. Hell, it’s three thirty in the morning. I’m going to be so friggin’ exhausted by noon, let alone by the time I need to assault Vorzog’s keep tomorrow.